Tomorrow
by Baird's Girl 1997
Summary: Just because the war has ended, that doesn't mean there will be a happily ever after on Sera. Tomorrow follows the lives of Delta squad, and the struggles they will have to face while rebuilding civilization. (Gears of War belongs solely to Epic Games)
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello everyone! This is going to be my version of what happens to Delta and the rest of the gang after the war. I'm not sure if all the chapters are going to be narrated in 1**__**st**__** person, but I'm going to focus mainly on Baird and Bernie, which is something I haven't done yet. Don't know how long it's going to be but, I hope you enjoy it anyway and **_**please**_** don't forget to R&R and tell me what you think. ;) **_

_Bernie's P.o.V_

_Only for them_.

That's the phrase that has been my mantra for the last few hours; whenever I start second guessing myself about getting on this boat, I repeat it, over and over and over. In the middle of the ocean is about the _last _place I want to be right now, but if it gives me the chance to see them all again-Marcus, Dom and the rest- so be it.

The war was over. It was difficult to try to imagine the meaning of those words, but those electric blue shockwaves that killed the grubs on contact a few days ago held no room for doubt that Marcus's dad had done something right. Still, the very thought of it was still a little less then surreal; 18 years of fighting the bastards, and it took less then a day to finally finish them off.

We got the call from Marcus only yesterday, and we hadn't lost any time in leaving for Azura as soon as possible. I had tried my best to convince Vic to let us ride via King Raven, but to him, boat seemed to be a more logical choice. Usually, I would have argued my points further with the old tosser, but we had both heard something in Marcus's voice that didn't sit right, which only wanted me to get there sooner.

Something was wrong. Maybe it was the fact that we had only spoken to Fenix, or maybe it was because there was something in his voice that spelled out trouble once you heard it. I tried not to picture one of them…_dead_, but right now, that seemed like the only reason Marcus wouldn't tell me what had happened over the radio.

The boat rocked under another massive wave, and I found myself involuntarily clutching the armrests of the chair I'm sitting in. A quick glance around reveals the interior of a _really _old boat, my travel quarters for most of our ride.

_Only for them_.

Sod it. Might as well go up on deck and see how far along we are, and that way, I could catch a glimpse of dry land sooner. Hell, Vic might even be free for a quick chat, although I wasn't counting on it. Ever since we got the news Prescott was dead, _Victor Hoffman_ had become the household name in COG authority, or at least in Anvagard. Civs and soldiers alike were constantly turning to him for leadership, and since then, he had hardly a spare moment of free time.

The sunlight poured in through the open door as I trudged up the steps; a much simpler task without full armor on.

Once outside, it took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight, the scene laid out before me.

The deck was bustling with activity, people running around like chickens without their heads while getting ready to settle in on Azura. I caught sight of Vic near the front of the boat, and I couldn't help but smile as I watched him try to have three different conversations with three different people at once. Our eyes met, and he waved me over, like he just found his escape route. I resist the urge to grab the side rail with both hands while making my way towards him, nudging my shoulder on numerous occasions with several people on the crowded deck.

Halfway over, a familiar bark meets my ears, and my pissy attitude brightens ever so slightly as Mac bounds towards me, if not so fast as he used to. The poor sod is getting up there in years, but that didn't mean I was going to leave him behind. He's _far_ too valuable to leave in the hands of whoever was in charge back home, and besides, it would be too fun to see Baird's face once he realized I brought his _best friend_ along.

The thought of Damon made my heart sink as I knelt down to pet Mac, who whined with contentment as I scratched behind his ears. What if I never saw him again? What if that annoyingly lovable blonde somehow hadn't made it? Baird never struck me as the dying type, but then again, none of Delta did.

With Mac now at my side, I finished crossing the deck, where Vic looked at me with impatience, the crowd of people around him still suffocating him with questions.

"All right folks, I need a word with sergeant Mataki." He had to raise his voice to be heard over the tidal waves of inquisitions. The blatant authority in his tone is still enough to want to make _me _stand at attention, and I can tell that the group of people feels the same. With unspoken agreement, they all make their way over to the far side of the boat, leaving me and Vic by ourselves, save for one loyal dog who stayed diligently by my feet.

"I'm sitting there, thinking I'd never get out of that, and _you_ stopped to pet the mutt." He gestures to Mac with a tilt of his head, speaking in that gruff tone that I remember from years ago. I guess some things never change.

"You're just jealous his arthritis has been getting him more attention." I reply with a smug grin. I can hear the dog's tail thumping on the worn wooden boards.

"Yeah, his arthritis has also been getting him _my_ side of the bed." He scoffed back, but went as far as giving Mac a good natured pat on the head, which I appreciate.

"How you holding up Bernie?" he finally asks me a serious question, offering me a half smile while placing a hand on my shoulder. He _knows_ how much I hate the water, so it's a rhetorical question. What does he want me to say? I'm doing badly, or I'm doing _really_ badly.

_Only for them_.

The phrase plays subconsciously in my head while I return the smile, trying to think of how to respond. In the end, I opt for a shrug, hoping that will cover enough ground for him to realize that I don't want to talk about anything _relatively _wet. He doesn't catch on.

"That bad huh? You defiantly don't seem like yourself." He always knows how I'm feeling, no matter what.

"Look," I start, my eyes drifting down to the floorboards. "The sooner I get out of this giant bath tub, the sooner I can go back to being my cheerful, happy-go-lucky self, yeah?" We both fall silent, and the sound of waves permeates my hearing; reminding me…_taunting _me, about the fact that I'm stuck in the middle of the ocean.

"I'm not talking about the water, Bernie."

My breath catches in my throat, and I suddenly find myself needing to be alone, moving away from Victor and quickly walking over to the stern of the boat, Mac close at my heels. The waves turn into a fine mist as they splash against the wooden siding, moistening my face as I lean against the rail and look off into the distance.

Someone's gone.

There is no doubt in my mind that one of my boys or girls won't be waiting for us on that pier, and its breaking my heart. I know that things like this shouldn't bother me as much as they still do, but what can I say? Even after soldiering on all these years and pretending like nothing hurts you anymore, old habits still die hard.

It just doesn't seem right. We had only just seen them a few days ago; real, and healthy, and _alive-_Someone places a firm hand on my hip, breaking my train of thought, and immediately, 63 years of instincts tell me to deck the sod who thought he could get away with it. I get as far as balling my hands into fists and turning on my heel before facing Victor, his massive frame as close as ever. All the morbid, downcast thoughts that had just been playing through my head are reflected in those big, gray eyes of his, and I instantly couldn't help but let my surprised expression wear down, replaced by a half hearted smile while I rested my hand atop his.

Bloody hell Mataki, when did you get so soft?

Again, we both remain silent, but I know our thoughts were the same as I watched the grayish clouds in the sky turn into a fluffy, clean white that I hadn't seen in years. We were getting closer to land, but part of me didn't want to know what was waiting for us at that hotel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, it's update time. Make sure to give me some feedback, so I'll know what changes to make in the next chapter. Enjoy!**

_Samantha Byrne stood dead still, hands and knees shaking while she looked on at the four people in front of her. They simply stared back, both motionless and completely devoid of expression. She dared not take her eyes away from the silent figures, but from what she could see in her peripheral, she was in the middle of a gray wasteland, wisps of white smoke spread around her and the apparent "family", who were unblinking. There was virtually nothing in the barren gray atmosphere; land and sky seemed to be one in the same, and it all remained morbidly silent._

_Sam couldn't remember how she had gotten there, or any events prior to when the family had spotted her._

_And what a family they were._

_The father- or at least Sam assumed it was the father -stood in the middle of the small group, with a stance she could only describe as protective. His flesh was burned beyond recognition, and from what Sam could see through his tattered clothing, his arms and legs were blistered and bleeding, while the same went for his unchanging face and bald scalp. There was something oddly familiar in those brown eyes of his, although impossible to decipher do to the overall disfiguration of his features; a chunk of skin was missing from his cheek, and his split lips were oozing an unsettling clear liquid._

_The woman who stood beside him was a shell of a human, nothing more then skin covering bones that were years over-worked. With barley any hair, scars covering her entire face, and a filthy dress that hung limply on her emaciated body, the last thing Sam expected was such brilliant eyes. They were the same shade of chocolate brown as the man who stood beside her, but they stared at the female gear with such intensity -such…_life_- that Sam would never had known they went with such a tortured frame hadn't she been standing right there._

_The children were what bothered Sam the most._

_Neither of them was over the age of five, but horrific gunshot wounds on the young boy and girl had left holes and trails of blood on their clothing, which took away any semblance of innocents that most certainly used to be there._

_The girl stood behind the charred leg of the man, peeking out from behind, although her face remained like the rest of theirs; eyes full of life, but expression completely unreadable._

_Despite the morbid picture, Sam couldn't help but realize the young girl mirrored the stance of any other toddler; Shy and closed off to strangers, and depending on her parents for protection and guidance. _

_The boy seemed slightly older, but still kept close to the woman who stood directly behind him, his head not even reaching her waist._

_Time seemed to stand still as Sam looked on at the disfigured family, whishing she knew how she had gotten there, or who these people were, or why she was there in the first place._

_Fear was defiantly the prominent emotion in her scattered senses, although it was dull, in the back of her mind. She felt no need to scream, run, reach for her side arm, or anything of the defensive sort._

_The fear she felt was more like guilt._

_She couldn't help but feel like she had intruded on an extremely intimate moment -no,_ reunion_- between that broken family._

_A family. Those words were all it took._

_One more look at the group- the group that was both dead, but very much alive -brought one name into Sam's head before everything vanished._

_Dom._

_(Sam's P.o.V)_

I wake up to find myself in a cold sweat, tears running down my face while instincts tell my body to sit straight up. Before my hands can reach the boltok on the bed-side table, my eyes adjust to the brightly lit room, and I find myself home, on Azura, early morning sunlight streaming through the large picture window on the far side of the room. As I gasp for air, I glance around, making sure the events that had just seemed _so_ real were only a dream. My eyes land on the clock on the far side of the room. It's only seven.

_Well, at least I made it through the_ entire_ night… _

Nightmares are nothing new to me, but they've defiantly been comin' more often then not. Hell, I'd go as far as saying they've become a regular _routine, _ever since the war ended.

Especially ones about Dom.

It takes a few seconds for the cries to subside, my fingers running through my hair and I try to rub the tension away.

My breathing is still ragged as I kick the quilted blanket off my feet- probably using more force then necessary- while wiping the back of my hand across my face, attempting to brush away the tears and rub the sleep from my puffy eyes at the same time.

The hard-wood flooring is cold beneath my bare feet, so I take long strides over to the dresser, pulling out a fresh tank top and pair of cargos, already combing a hand through my sleep-tussled hair.

_I have to get away from this hotel._

Bernie and Hoffman are coming today, and I _will_ be waiting for them on that pier, painful or not. But that still won't be for a few more hours, and in the meantime, I have to clear my head, and that means getting away from this hotel.

There's only so many places you can go- and people you can avoid- when living on an island, but being cramped into one massive _building_ has only heightened the chance that I'll snap at someone unintentionally if I don't get some fresh air every now and then.

After I brush my teeth and throw on a pair of boots, I finish my ensemble by tying a bandana under my bangs before heading out the door.

The long hallways have become crowded in recent days, and between the men and woman who occupy the rooms, and the boxes of items that are being stored in the hall for the time being, I find myself longing for fresh air; one plus to living in this convoluted hotel is the ocean-side view, and more times then one, I've wandered down to the surf, simply to enjoy the salty air.

After what seemed like an eternity of wading through a sea of people, I trudge down the main stairs, into the massive lobby.

A delicious aroma meets my nose before I can get outside, and I suddenly realize that I had negated the idea of breakfast. I deliberate the idea of food for a moment, and then decide breakfast would probably be in my best interest if I plan on wandering around the island for a better part of the day.

By now, I've learned the layout of most of the hotel, so finding the mess hall- which was basically one of the dining halls converted into a sort of cafeteria- has become a lot easier.

When I get there, it's easy to see that plenty of people have been up long before I have; the entire room is filled up, and dozens of conversations have been mixed into one annoyingly loud voice.

Over at the counter, there's toast, eggs, (powdered but still smelling delicious) pancakes, and even some bacon.

And coffee.

Lots and lots of good, strong coffee. I imagine the scientists who used to work here needed to stay awake for ungodly hours, and coffee was most likely the thing that kept them going, judging by the stockpile of the stuff we found in the back room.

As soon as I finish piling a little of everything on my plate and poring myself a cup of black coffee, I begin scanning tables, looking for an empty chair. Navigating through crowded tables with both hands full is no easy task, and after a few minutes, my wrists start to hurt. I was just about to go sit in the lobby when I spotted Baird at the far side of the room; his blonde hair and goggled forehead make it impossible to mistake him for someone else.

He was all by himself at the small table, which could only mean one of two things; either he sat by himself purposely, and gave the cold shoulder to anyone who tried to join him, _or_, nobody felt like sitting with the antisocial bugger.

So, if I take the empty seat, I'll either make his day, or piss him off. It's defiantly a win-win situation.

While I push through the large crowd, I can see Baird supporting his head in one hand, while using the other to tap the blunt end of his pencil across the table, which is covered in papers.

"Mind if I sit here?" I ask plainly while approaching, gesturing to the empty chair with a nod of my head.

He looks up with surprise, like he hadn't noticed me. By the way he hesitates, I can tell the chair is empty for a reason.

"I can sit somewhere else if you'd like." I decide to humor him, because I really don't feel like getting in an argument right now. Not today.

He stares up at me with blank eyes for half a second before blinking twice, shaking his head before saying "Ugh, no…its fine. Go for it."

_Odd_.

He seems…out of it, and as I sit down across from him, he doesn't even flinch as I shift his papers out of the way of my plate.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, but I continually find myself looking back at Baird. It's weird to see him so put out; his tired blue eyes simply roamed over the papers on the table without their usual enthusiasm.

"You ok Baird?" I finally have to ask when he decides that the papers are of _no_ interest, turning to look out the window instead.

He gives me a quick look-over, and then folds his arms over his chest defensively.

"Are_ you_?" he must have noticed the puffiness around my eyes- damn his attention to detail.

It's typical for Baird to answer a question with a question, so I decide to play along.

"Well, did you at least eat something?" There's no plate in front of him, so I figure breakfast is as good a topic as any.

"Not hungry." He replied simply, rubbing the temples of his head with his first and third fingers. After he moved his hand away, I notice the dark circles under his eyes, and I suddenly find myself feeling anxious for him.

I muster a smile.

"Blondie, you know full well that that if you don't eat your breakfast, you won't grow up to be big and strong. Bernie already explained this to you." At that point, a curse or an insult from him would've been a relief. All I got was a mumbled "Funny.".

Those simple replies were really getting to me, so I gave him a face to mirror my feelings.

We stared at each other for a few silent seconds before he reached for my plate, and took one triangle of toast. He then proceeded to take a small bite, chew it, swallow, and then place the bread back on my plate. His eyes stayed locked with mine the entire time.

"Happy?" Well, at least his expression was back to it usual cynicism.

I'm glad I got through to him, if only a little. I was just about to answer when a familiar voice from across the room caused us both to turn. The type of drall in the man's accent was like nobody else's around here, and I find myself smiling as I stand to greet him.

"Dizzy. Where the hell have you been? We haven't really had the chance to talk lately." I wrap my arms around his neck, careful to avoid the brim of his large straw hat as he returns the gesture.

"Well, you know how it is around here darlin'. I think everyone is being kept pretty busy. _Too_ busy if you ask me."

"Yeah, well I'm changing that. You and me are going to sit down at the bar really soon. Do some catching up."

"It's a date." He answers with a smile before turning to Baird.

"Hey son, watcha' been up to?" Dizzy looks genuinely confused that me and Baird had been sitting together, and I don't blame him. When people bring the names _Baird and Sam_ together, "lovebirds" is usually the last thing that comes to mind.

"Just busy being force-fed." Baird gives me a quick look, and I think I see something like humor in his eyes. "How bout' yourself?" He stands to shake Dizzy's hand with a small but serious smile, and then starts putting his papers away.

Dizzy's hand seemed to stay extended, even after Baird let go. He gives me a look that says _what the hell does that mean? _and I simply mouth the words "Don't bother." while giving Baird a playful nudge in the back. He grunts under his breath as my shove causes him to lean forward, halting his work momentarily.

"Baird has just been busy Diz. That's all"

Dizzy nods back, still looking slightly confused as he clears his throat.

"Well, I don't want to be the nail in the coffin, but that's kinda' what I'm here about, Baird. Lieutenant Stroud was lookin' for ya earlier, and she asked me to find you. She says one of the generators is down on the fifth floor again, and she was wonderin' if you could do somethin' for it."

"Typical." Baird breaths, placing the last of his papers in the bag before turning back to face me and Diz. "Nice seeing you Dizzy. Byrne." He gives me a slight nod before walking over to the elevator.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Dizzy turns to me, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Did I miss that much between you two, or…what?"

I scoff, rolling my eyes while linking arms with him, making my way to the front door. There was no denying that my relationship with Baird had_ changed _ever since he had spoken to me a few days ago, but that didn't mean there was anything romantic going on between us. Far from it.

"It's not like that Dizzy. He just seemed…I don't know…_drained_. I thought I might try talking to him."

"And?"

I give him a look, and he cringes. "That bad huh?"

"You know how Baird is. Talking isn't really his _forte_." I stay silent for half a second, but then continue, my voice lowered considerably. "It's just…he wasn't eating anything…He wasn't acting like himself y'know?" My expression takes up one of concern as I recall the dark circles under the mechanics eyes.

Dizzy gives my hand a reassuring squeeze while we slowly make our way through the continually growing crowd, and I appreciate the gesture.

"I'm sure he's fine Sam. Everyone is goin' through something right now, and we have to remember that Baird is human, just like the rest of us. Even if that's hard to believe sometimes."

My mind immediately races to an image of Dom, every detail of his face still perfectly clear. I didn't know him for as long as Delta, but I'm still finding it hard to cope without him. It never really occurred to me that Baird would take his loss with such difficulty, but then again, Baird tends to keep his feelings to himself.

"You excited to see your girls?" I finally speak again while nearing the door, making sure to log away all of my thoughts on Baird; I would have to talk to Bernie about this.

"You bet." He responds, but he didn't even need to speak; every detail of his expression lights up with joy and excitement whenever someone mentions his daughters. Marilyn and Theresa are his pride and joy; the two people who really keep him going.

"You're a good friend, and an even better father. Thanks for everything."

I give him another hug when we get to the door, and he smiles as we part.

"Any time darlin'. And I'm holding you to that drink." He calls over his shoulder while walking down the hall, and I can see him shake his head with a laugh.

When I open the door, I'm greeted by bright rays of morning sunlight. After my eyes adjust, I can see that the sky is a brilliant blue, and there isn't a single cloud. Any other time, I would've considered it perfect. But not today.

As I walk along the beach, I know that breaking the news about Dom to Hoffman and Bernie isn't going to be easy, but I guess we'll have to cross _that_ proverbial bridge when we get there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! So I decided that this time, I wouldn't write in first person. Anyway, what I really wanted to showcase in this chapter was how Baird and Sam's relationship had changed since the war had ended. So, here it is, and I hope you enjoy, and tell me what you think! **

_**(Several days prior; the night following the end of the war.)**_

Hours. It had been only _hours _since Adam Fenix's device had activated, and the war against the locust horde had ended. Everything was still in a dream-like state, and Samantha Byrne had to keep reminding herself that what had happened, had happened, and that life would have to keep moving, new direction or not.

She sighed, taking off the last of her armor and tossed it on the queen sized mattress, which was the centerpiece of the lavish hotel room she had chosen to stay in. If there had been more modest accommodations, Sam would've taken them in a heartbeat, but everything about the entire building oozed copious elegance, and she despised it. It felt_ wrong_ to be living in such leisure, when so many of her comrades didn't even live to see it; like Dom.

In fact, she decided that there were only two things she could deal with-maybe take_ some_ enjoyment in-while living in that hotel room; an individual shower with hot running water, and the view. Sam had nabbed one of the rooms closest to the top floor-22nd she thought-so that the ocean looked like a painting down below.

Deciding it would be best not to keep herself holed up in isolation, and leave her mind free to dwell on the events of the past day, Sam finished putting her armor in the corner of the room, and was just about to leave when a knock sounded on the door.

"It's taken." She called in response, brushing down the front of her tank shirt while rolling her eyes; it was already 2:00am, but lots of gears were still looking for a place to bunk for the night. This had been the fifth time in twenty minutes that someone had rapped on her door looking for vacancy, and it was grating on her already frayed nerves.

The sound repeated itself, and Sam turned on her heel, ready to confront whoever it was. She swung the door open abruptly, only to see Baird, hand raised in a fist, as if he was in the process of knocking a third time. Quickly looking him over, she saw something about him that looked…different. Embarrassingly, it took her several seconds to realize it was his armor that was gone. The standard issue plates had defiantly increased his overall size, because without them, Sam couldn't help but notice how much smaller he was then most other gears. Sure, he still had a cut figure, nice sized arms and toned upper body. But compared with his piers, the difference was almost comical.

As soon as their eyes met, Baird pulled his hand back to his chest, pursing his lips, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, hey Baird." Sam offered the first statement while trying to erase the look of frustration off her face.

She hadn't seen Baird since they had talked earlier that day; it had been a slightly awkward, but…almost cute conversation. It most certainly hadn't been the, I'm-so-much-better-then-you attitude that usually came from Baird. In his own words, he had told Sam to "Take care of yourself", and then-believe it or not-he had smiled at her. Not a sarcastic, snarky smirk either. It was an odd, but genuine smile. Sam was still confused about the whole thing.

"Hey Sam. I was wondering…if we could talk." His sentence took her off guard for a second. _Talk? What could he want to talk about?_

"About_…Dom." _He finished his sentence as if reading her thoughts, and Sam could feel the breath catch in her throat as he lowered his gaze to the floor. His tone sounded desperate in a way, maybe even apologetic. It was like he knew that the phrase would hurt her, but he couldn't_ help_ but ask anyway.

"I um…I asked Marcus about it earlier, but…" he fell silent, like he was remembering something too delicate to repeat. "I don't think it was the right time." He finished.

Sam could see that his hands were constantly moving, going from his pockets, to each other, to behind his neck, then back into his pockets; it was his tell that he was uncomfortable.

She remained silent for a few seconds, not knowing how to respond. Actually, the _last_ thing she wanted right now was to talk about Dominic Santiago, but it was Baird's right to know. It only occurred to her now that the mechanic didn't even have the faintest idea of what had happened to his comrade. If she was in his shoes, the morbid suspense would've killed her by now.

"Yeah, come in." Sam finally found her voice, moving out of the doorframe to make room. She wished she hadn't responded so casually, but there weren't many_ appropriate _words to use when explaining how one of your pal blew himself to pieces anyway.

She could already feel her hands shaking as they both moved with unspoken agreement towards the bed, sitting down next to each other on the edge of the expensive quilt.

"So…" she breathed, not exactly knowing where to start. _From the beginning when we first entered Mercy? Or skip to the chase, and explain-in detail-exactly how Dom ended his life by saving his friends._

"Sam, if this is too hard for you, I understand." As Baird broke Sam out of her thoughts, there was no sarcasm or malice in his tone. He was being genuine, and she appreciated it more then he knew.

However difficult for discussion this topic was, Sam suddenly found herself wondering why Baird had come to ask _her_ in the first place. She understood his reasons for avoiding Marcus; It was obvious that losing your brother-that's what Dom was to him-and your father in the same day put up some significant warning signs that read "do not disturb". But Anya had been present throughout the ordeal. So had Jace and Dizzy. They were equally as approachable, and Baird had known them longer then he had Sam.

_So why would he ask me? _

"Sam?" his voice interrupted her thoughts, and she jumped involuntarily, realizing how long she had remained silent. "Maybe… Maybe this isn't the right time either." A slight twinge of discouragement in Baird's tone was the only thing that betrayed his indifferent expression.

"No, Baird, it's fine. I'm…just not quite sure where to start." She responded while shaking her head and meeting his gaze.

She needed help on this one, whether she wanted to admit that or not.

"Sam, how'd it happen?" Baird put it so simply, that it surprisingly left room for only one answer, making things slightly easier for Sam.

The female gear breathed heavily once more before beginning to recall that excruciatingly painful memory.

Baird remained silent the entire time as Sam recounted the details; How they were overrun. How the Formers, Locust and Lambent were_ that_ close to ending life for all of them. How Dom had made the selfless decision to ram the fuel tanker into the station, setting off a chain of explosions that wiped out all of their enemies. And she explained those awful seconds after he died; how everything was moving both too quickly, and not quickly enough.

By the time she finished, there were tears running down her face, but for whatever reason, she didn't feel the least bit ashamed at letting Baird see her cry, unlike the other times she had been around him in a similar situation.

Sam couldn't fully see his expression through her blurry eyesight, but his silence defiantly said something to her. But then again, what could he say?

They both sat together for what seemed like hours, neither of them venturing beyond the border of complete silence. It wasn't until Sam's crying was reduced to soft sniffles that she looked up at him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't-" Sam's words came out with great difficulty, the lump in her throat making it painful to speak. As she looked up at him with an expression that finished her sentence, she noted that his own eyes seemed red and glossy. Maybe her vision was still too blurry.

"Sam, please don't apologize." Baird seemed to hesitate for half a second before wrapping his arms around her quivering frame. "And…thank you." He whispered, his voice also sounding choked while he moved closer to her. Although surprised by his sudden act of compassion, Sam immediately took it as an invitation, and rested her head against his chest.

They sat for most of the night in each others arms. And even though Sam new that the embrace was most likely just a show of sympathy and condolence on Baird's part, she also shocked herself by hoping it might be something more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Update time! Wow, it's been so long since I've written anything. Really sorry to keep you guys waiting, but life is being pretty mean to me lately. I'll try to update more regularly, but I hope you enjoy this chapter and tell me what you think!**

* * *

_(Baird's P.o.V)_

Sleep just isn't coming.

I'm sure I don't have to tell you that irony is a _very_ cruel bitch, but what are the chances of getting insomnia _after_ an 18 year war ends? Then add that to the fact that sleep had _never _been an issue for me in the first place.

If you ask me, that's like a whole new level of derision to my psyche.

I breathe deeply, letting steam from the shower engulf each of my senses—a poor attempt to calm my thoughts, which are racing.

Getting the generator on the fifth floor running again had been easy work, but a loose screw in the oil compartment had left my clothes in a state that wasn't entirely suitable for what was going to happen later; We were meeting the people from Anvil Gate.

For the thousandth time today, I find myself wondering about Hoffman and Bernie—How they've been. What had happened since we left. And how the hell we're going to tell them about Dom.

_Dom._

I repeat the name mentally, and after almost a week, I'm still unable—unwilling—to grasp the fact that he's dead. There are times that I'll completely forget that he's gone, and then I have to remind myself—over and over and over—that he's not at Anvil Gate, or that he's not somehow still at Mercy.

That he's not coming back.

You could say that that's my fault, because I had never steeled myself for it. But I never _had_ to, because not even two weeks ago, Delta had seemed unbreakable.

There had been no slow transition back to normalcy when the war ended, like I had half expected. One minute, they tell me Dom died, and they can't even give me an explanation. And the next? Locusts are crumpling at my feet, Adam Fenix turned to ash, and Marcus stuck a knife through the Locust Queen's chest. By the time we made it back to the hotel lobby, my entire world seemed to be in a state of surreal disbelief, and it stayed that way for a few days afterward.

But now the numbness that had engulfed my emotions was ebbing, and it was slowly being replaced by a painful mixture of regret, grief, and confusion.

As I let the steaming water run down my head and neck, I rest my hands on the wall in front of me while trying to get a grip on the situation. Small pieces here and there from the past week fall into my intellectual puzzle, but there are only a few things that stand out of the ordinary—all things considered.

The war had ended. Yeah yeah yeah, I know. Big deal, and all that shit. This might just be my 'incurable pessimism' speaking, but I think that that phrase is being celebrated a _bit_ too much around here. Except for the fact there are no more hulking, grey, genocidal monsters living under our beds, the only thing we have left now is a burning, resource deprived planet that is insanely—dangerously—under populated. In fact, do you know what the only_ other _change has been since those pretty blues waves swept out all of the opposing life forms on Sera? People who are very used to firing guns on a daily basis…have nothing left to shoot at!

Don't get me wrong here; _I'm _glad that this living nightmare is finally over. But since then, we have had plenty of people balancing dangerously on the razor edge, with a few who have fallen off completely.

One man in particular.

Long story short. Morning after everything ended, we found him in his room, hanging from the ceiling fan with a rope wrapped around his neck. Only thing he left for us to find was a few empty bottles of scotch and one of those crazy, scribbled pieces of paper that you know were written by someone who was completely plastered. After deciphering the handwriting a while later, we figure out it's a suicide note with a message that doesn't amount to much more then 'F you'.

Honestly, I was questioning the logic behind it all for days afterward. Making it through an entire war just to hang yourself when it all ends?

But then I realized that this guy probably had nothing _left_ to live for; that surviving day-to-day, by himself, had been the only way he had known for years. Granted, he had been _incredibly _drunk, and three-fourths of his decision was probably nothing more then a 'deadly' mixture of built-up emotion and an alcohol infatuated conscience. But sometimes, I can't help but think if I'm very far from where he was.

In the department of being alone anyway.

As I stifle a yawn, I try to tell myself that the hot water is making me drowsy, but I know it's a lie. The real reason I'm tired—aside from the lack of sleep—is because I haven't eaten much. But then how can I eat when I'm exhausted? It's like a never-ending circle that was constructed _just_for me by some psychopath who takes pleasure in other people's suffering…

But the mention of food suddenly brings my thoughts racing to when Sam had sat with me at breakfast this morning and, despite a mental struggle not to, I find bits and pieces of the night we talked seeping through my line of defense, my brain dissecting the miniscule details.

And the fact that I hugged her.

The realistic part of me keeps saying that what I did was out of reflex—_compassion_ even—but that I don't have the slightest of feelings for Sam. But then another part of me keeps disagreeing.

I had actually hugged Samantha Byrne, but more shockingly, it hadn't felt awkward, or rehearsed, or even _mandatory_. It wasn't one of those moments where sharing an embrace is just a common gesture exchanged between grieving people. We had talked, she had cried, and then for a few seconds…something had feltreal between us. Felt _right_.

I shake my head, letting the hot water trickle down my neck and back even though the grime from the generator has long since washed off. I can't let my thoughts wander right now—about Sam, and something that's probably not going on between us—because there's already enough going through my head; Lack of sleep. Bernie and Hoffman. _Dom_.

There is _so_ much that has to happen in the near future that I literally get a headache thinking of it all; Rebuilding. Repopulating. Forgiving. Mourning. Celebrating. Remembering. _Forgetting_.

For the first time in my life, I'm wishing things could be simpler. And not in the 'This is too hard, and I'm too lazy' type way either. I literally don't _know_ what do, or what direction to take, or how to act, or what to say, or who to say it to, or when to say it at all.

Or where to start.

In a weird—maybe selfish—way, I'm already missing the simplicity of my former life. Sure, things were extremely tough, but they were regimented. There was a certain way people lived, and not because they wanted to, but because they _had _to.

Living most of my life in fear has made me accustomed to it, and that's not such a good thing, because, without a solid, mandatory, blatant thing to be afraid of, I start getting scared of other things when I shouldn't be, i.e., living day to day, without plan or purpose. I knew what I _had_ to do before, but I'm not entirely sure what I _want _to do now.

Reluctantly, I reach out to the knobs, ending the jet of steamy water as I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist.

A quick glance at the clock reveals the time; ten o'clock. I was in there longer then I thought.

Bernie and Hoffman should be here within the hour, but I know none of us are ready for it. I'm sure Marcus will do all the talking, and I won't get in his way, but honestly, I don't know what he's going to say to them. Is there anything you _can_ say, to make things like this a little easier?

I yawn again while slipping on a pair of jeans, trying to get my words together if there _is _an instance when I _have_ to speak, although I'm hoping against it. It's not that I don't have anything to say about Dom. That's the farthest thing from the truth. Its just…talking…to people…That's where the issues come in. Plus, the topic of conversation won't help my _copasetic_ people skills in anyway.

_Bernie. Hoffman. I regret to inform you that Dom is dead. He killed himself by ramming a fuel tanker into an ungodly amount of imulsion. Oh…but yeah, he saved everybody too._

Hello. The last thing I need right now is another right hook from Mataki.

I _want_ to make this easier on them. I want to help in any way that I can. But I also know that verbal assistance is far beyond me at this point, even if there's so much I want to say.

But hey, I guess some things are just best left unsaid anyway, right?


	5. Chapter 5

**What?! What?! An…**_**update**_**?! Yeah yeah, I know; I haven't uploaded anything in years…But I'm here to tell you that I'm not dead! I've just been very busy. Anyway, since I've been gone so long, I have two chapters for you, instead of one. This one is a little shorter then I would've liked but, whatever. Make sure you R&R!**

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(Anya's P.o.V)

"Marcus?" I gently rap on the partially open door before stepping inside the crowded room that used to belong to Adam Fenix. The place is in disrepair as of now, what with the overall…over_haul_...combined with the damage that was left by the shootout with grubs days ago. There's silence as I stand in place, and I bounce on my heels while waiting—in vain—for a response. I'm not surprised that Marcus doesn't hear me; he's always been a sort of introvert. But these past few days have been particularly rough on him, and more then once I've found him by himself, lost in though so deeply that I would have to be within two feet of him before he noticed me.

I sigh, and, knowing better then to creep up on a seasoned gear, I clear my throat, raising my voice slightly before calling again. "Marcus? Are you in here?"

"Bedroom," comes the gruff reply, and I gingerly step over a pile of paperwork while making my way over, curiously letting my eyes linger on a picture here, a folder there; anything that might give us clues to the past, or hints as to what the future might bring.

"Hey," I call out softly from the doorframe after making it through the debris. Marcus is sitting on the edge of the bed, sifting through papers next to him on the comforter. He has been keeping extremely busy since day one on this island, mostly going through his father's belongings and helping with rebuilding the damaged areas. He's packing down his emotions, as if he might forget about what happened if they were put aside, but I know it's just a matter of time before he'll _have _to vent to someone. And I can only hope that he trusts me enough to _be_ that person.

He grunts in reply to my greeting, but makes no other move to acknowledge my presents. I step further into the room, hugging myself while deliberating whether to voice what's probably on both our minds. I procrastinate.

"Anything interesting?" I question, plopping down next to him on the bed, avoiding the paper mountains.

"Same," is his one word response. It's the monosyllabic phrases that let me know something's on his mind, and that it's bubbling just below the surface. I breathe deeply, giving the grandfather clock in the corner a quick glance—10:07—before mentioning the inevitable in a low voice.

"You know...their going to be here soon…" His shoulders tense as I trail off, although he doesn't pause in shuffling the papers. Eventually, he nods, ice blue eyes never wavering. I remain still, waiting for more, but when I don't get a response, I gently place a hand on his cheek and turn his head to face me.

"Hey. Are you ready for this?" His eyes pierce through mine as he holds my gaze, and my other hand goes for his as the room remains silent.

"I don't know," he confesses after awhile, but I'm relieved as he leans into me a little, letting me stroke the short black hair behind his head.

"Do you want me to tell them?" I question calmly. I get a headshake in quick response.

"I have to do this, Anya," he adds in quietly while pulling back, the momentary show of weariness gone. I nod, not entirely sure what we're going to say to Bernie and Hoffman when they get here. Thinking back, I now realize I couldn't even break the news to Cole and Baird when they radioed in from Halvo. I try to tell myself that it was the _situation _that didn't allow me to; we were just finishing off a hoard of locust while trying to get onto the submarine. But really, deep down, I know I just wasn't…_brave _enough, even with over a decades worth of training in government communication. It's frustrating, because when _I'm _not able to do something, I leave _Marcus _in the position of having to explain by himself.

"Anya," Marcus's voice breaks into my thoughts, and I blink twice, clearing my head. "I just need you to be there."

I stay silent, trying to register the fact that Marcus just used the word "need" in his vocabulary; it's not a common occurrence when the sergeant of Delta squad admits to having to _need _something. Sure, there's the usual _I need backup_, or _we need an e-vac. _Butthere's hardly ever an _I need to be with you_. Granted, Marcus isn't a very personal individual, and I would never expect him to be something he's not, but it's refreshing to know sometimes that he relies on having me by his side on certain occasions.

_Just another reminder that he's changing._

There are some days that Marcus will act like he did before Mercy. Then there are other instances where we'll talk for a while, and bits and pieces of the Marcus before the war will seep out, breaking through a barrier that was built a lifetime ago. And, in very rare moments, when we're in bed together, something in his eyes will change, and I'll be reminded of the man I fell in love with before the Slab. Before all that time we spent apart, and before prison changed him in a way that will never fully reverse itself.

And when we lie next to each other in the dead of night, I think back on that first night we spent together; so many emotions were flooding through me that I felt hopeless, but Marcus was like a light shining in the dark. It was that night that I realized I loved him, and not a day has gone by where I regret my decision to wait for him.

"Marcus?" I finally speak up, my voice soft and slow. "I'll _always_ be there for you. _Whatever it takes_." I remind him of the words I spoke when we sat on the beach while laying my head on his shoulder. His frame slackens as he rests his head on mine, our hands still intertwined.

"I need you too you know," I add, nudging closer into his neck. There's a short pause, and then Marcus pulls my shoulders back softly before pressing his lips against mine, eyes closed and hand buried through my hair.

"I love you Anya," he says gently after pulling back. "I want you to know that."

"I know," I whisper back, folding into his embrace once more, concealing the tears that are building in my eyes. Not tears of sadness, but pure joy, because I know without a doubt, that there's no one I would rather be with, and that he feels the same way. And as he pulls me closer, I smile, thinking that, more than anything else, he was worth the wait.


	6. Chapter 6

**I really like this chapter, as it shows some of the low-key characters as well. Be prepared to get more of that in the future…;D)**

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"Look Mackie. Gulls." I point up at the small white birds, watching them intently as they circle over a school of blue devils, some swooping down to get a mouthful of the fish every now and then. Mac barks with enthusiasm, perching his front paws on the safety rail to get a better view while I tug gently at his ear.

"Seagulls," I remind him, "Means we're getting close to land."

"It does?" someone calls from behind me, and I turn to see a young girl standing a few feet away, watching the birds as well, her crazy mop of long auburn hair blowing around her juvenile face with the breeze. It takes me a half a second to place the name with the face, and even then, it's difficult. But then, that's bound to happen with twins.

"Marilyn," I state undecidedly, playfully cringing. I feel guilty, always confusing Dizzy's two teenage daughters, Theresa and Marilyn, with each other. With the same facial features, matching hair, and, most of the time, identical dress codes, it's almost impossible to tell them apart. Thankfully, she takes it good-naturedly. Smiling, she places a hand on her chest while shaking her head.

"Theresa," she corrects, walking over to the railing with her hands tucked deeply into her jeans, shoulders raised against the whipping breeze.

"Sorry sweetheart," I apologize, looking back up at the birds, which have grown a pitch louder. A few of them are fighting over the bigger pieces of fish, tumbling through the air until they both drop the meal anyway.

"No biggie. Lots of people say it's hard to tell us apart," she admits with a grin, trying to manage her unruly hair by tucking a particularly crazy bunch behind her ear. "So, is that true?"

"What?" I question, shaking my head and looking back over in her direction.

"The birds, I mean. We're really getting close?" The excitement in her voice is obvious, and I smile involuntarily, thinking what a small, but happy family Dizzy and the girls make up.

"Well yeah. The birds know their limits. They can only fly so far without getting tired, which means they'd have to stay near dry land so they can make it back and fourth. We may not see it yet, but trust me, that island will come into view within the hour."

Theresa is content to bite her bottom lip with a smile at this, looking at the birds with newer appreciation, like they're her sign for a brighter, happier day.

"That's so cool," she finally mutters, more to herself then anything. Then she turns towards me, anticipation clear on her young features. "Do you think daddy knows that?"

I'm_ sure_ Dizzy knows that. Being in the merchant navy, it would be despicable if he _didn't _know something so simple. But I can see that the thought of knowing something before her dad gives Theresa excitement. I fib a little.

"You just might be able to teach your dad a thing or two," I tell her with a smile, knowing that Diz will play along with his daughter's antics anyway. "But why don't you try it out on Marilyn first?"

Her shoulders slump a little at this, and the smallest of pouts tugs at the corners of her lips. "She's down in the engine room, with that Indi guy. Yanik, I think."

"Yanik?" I repeat, standing up a little straighter. _Now what the hell is that tosser saying in front of her?_

"Yeah," Theresa nods back. "He was explaining some of that mechanical stuff to her. Marilyn really seems to enjoy all those grease-monkey jobs, but I can't stand it in the engineering department. Everything's all stuffed up, y'know?"

I nod, still half wondering if I should go check on Marilyn, but then reluctantly decided not to. "I agree with you whole-heartedly Tes. Give me the great outdoors over pipes, wires, and soldering any day."

Theresa smiles, then we both fall into comfortable silence, watching the seagulls. The waves have grown calmer in the past half hour, so that the boat is rocking only slightly over the blue-green water. I breathe deeply, the aroma of salt and fish mixing into a pleasantly doable scent as the sun warms my skin. _This_ environment, I decide, isn't so bad. Eventually, Theresa gets distracted, and starts stroking Mac, who's more then cooperative.

Five minutes pass, and the constant drivel of other people on deck melt into a mellowed hum.

"Sergeant?" Theresa finally breaks the silence, and I look down to see her sitting on the deck, absently fingering through Mac's fur, green eyes roaming with distraction.

"Yeah darling?"

"Do you…You really think that dad is alright…right?"

I crouch down next to her, making sure that I give her strong eye contact while speaking. Even though my own fears have been weighing on me this entire trip, I keep my voice steady.

"Theresa. I have known your dad for a _very_ long time, and if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that's you and your sister are the most important and cherished things in his life. And I also know that devotion drives people to incredible lengths."

At this point, I have to pause, because an image of Dom crops up involuntarily, and I can't help but think of _his_ attachment to Maria, and Benny and Sylvie. Devotion _does _drive people to incredible lengths. In most instances, it'll be motivation to keep you moving forward, something that pushes us, even when we feel that moving is impossible. But what happens when the source of that motivation is gone, but the devotion still remains?

Theresa doesn't seem to mind my pause. She glances down at the wooden boards, and when she looks back up at me, there is a fire in her eyes. An in-extinguishable spark.

"He'll be there," She states with a confidant nod, lips pursed. Her expression has changed, making her look older and matured.

"You can be damn well sure of it," I agree, patting her arm as she stands with me.

"Theresa!" someone yells from behind, and this time, we both turn to see Marilyn, grease and grime covering her hands, a few black smears here and there staining her face as well. A pair of engineering goggles that look slightly too big for her rest on top of her head, and assorted tools are sticking out of her cargo pants pockets. She waves her sister over, proudly brandishing a small piece of machinery over her head. "Mr. Laas showed me how to make a radio!" she calls over the noise of the deck, and it looks like her hand is going to fall off from waving.

Theresa jogs a few paces, but then turns back, and smiles at me. "Thanks, Sergeant Mataki. For everything."

"My pleasure Tes," I smile back as she runs over to her sister, talking a mile a minute about the radio.

"That girl," someone else is talking now, and I turn to see Yanik, wiping his hands on an old towel while grinning. He's dressed in a similar fashion as Marilyn, albeit a little less grimy. "Is _really_ something."

"Why don't you tell me more about that, Yanik?" I call back, suspicion clear.

He eyes me for a moment, and then feigns incredulity, placing a hand over his heart while walking over. "Ms. Mataki. How could you accuse your loyal servant Yanik of wrong doing, hmm? I was merely showing the girl the things that she questioned about."

"Oh really," I raise my eyebrows. "And what about that thing _we_ talked about. 'The curtailment of incommensurable malison in front of adolescents,' I think it was?"

Yanik tilts his head, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips as if the conversation doesn't ring a bell, even though that's impossible, because we had just talked about it yesterday.

I sigh when he doesn't answer, so I put it in 'Yanik speak'. "Did you say _shit_, or _fuck_ in front of her?"

This time, I get a laugh from him, a mixture of chuckles and giggles that I find oddly contagious. I smile with him, but make sure to stay serious, raising my eyebrows, expecting an answer.

"Well," he finally breathes, "Let's just hope that the girl doesn't speak Gorasnian, but other then that, I have been faithful in my promises."

"Fair enough," I concede, straining to get a look at the gulls again, but finding that we've left their small group behind already. "So, Marilyn was pretty good with the machines, hmm?" I strike up conversation again as Yanik leans over the railing as well, keeping a considerable distance from Mac, who's eyeing the Indi apprehensively.

He nods, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "It looks like we have finally found some competition for 'Blondie Baird'. Aside from yours truly," he pats his chest.

"Oh, I'm sure Damon will be _thrilled_ by that. Bested by a sixteen year old girl."

Yanik laughs again. He turns, resting the small of his back against the railing while running a hand over his face, breathing deeply. He was just opening his mouth to say something else when the call of his name from across the deck followed by a quick rant in Gorasnian stopped him short. He shouts back in his native tongue, and I easily picked up several curses melded into his sentence.

"Well Bernadette," he turns to me, "it looks like my never-ending talent is yet again being called upon." He leans down in an extravagant bow, and, much to my surprise reaches out and kisses my hand. "I will always cherish this short amount of time we have shared."

"Yanik?" I question as he releases my hand. He looks up me at expectantly, and I smile as sweetly as possible. "Get the hell out of here."

He flashes his most charming smile, and as he walks away with a laugh, he's muttering Gorasnian again, something about wildcats playing hard to get.

"Bloody moron," I mutter, shaking my head with a laugh.

Again, there is a lull in the atmosphere, and another two minutes passes before someone calls out, "Well, that was…interesting."

The voice is immediately recognizable, and I do a slow 3-60, looking around the deck for him.

"Were you watching the whole time?" I question mildly when I finally lay eyes on Vic, who's resting casually on the far side of the boat. When he doesn't answer, I walk over to him with a sigh, shaking my head. "Growing jealous, are we Victor?"

He grunts in reply, looking me up and down. "No. I was just wondering if this is a new faze for you. Getting sick of your Tyran boyfriend already?"

"Yeah sweetheart. Exotic, _much_ younger men is what I'm after nowadays. Looks like your going to have to play you're A-game to appease me, huh?"

"Looks that way," he concedes, pulling me into his arms as I approach. There's something so comforting being in his hold that I close my eyes as he rests his chin on my head, his warm hands moving up and down my forearms. We're both content to stay silent for a long while, listening to the rhythmic splash of waves against the boat while the sun grows higher in the sky.

Being in such an intimate state with Victor does two things to me; first, there is a happiness that I haven't felt in years, like there isn't a single thing that's going to change the way I feel about him, and that there is mutual agreement on that subject. I feel fulfilled, like a part of me that has been waiting to come back to life over the years finally has.

But then, being so vulnerable, so happy and content, also reminds me that I'm human too. Fighting all those years makes you lose sight of who you really are, because your main goal is to stay alive, and to defend something that paints a bigger picture. There is no real reason to be viewed as an individual.

Now, when I'm wrapped in Vic's arms, and the fact that everything I've been fighting for over the years _is_ either gone or over, I'm left feeling like the person that I really am; aged, broken, scarred, and tired.

"Oh Vic," I finally sigh, not bothering to move from his chest, voicing my concerns freely. "When did I get so old?"

He pulls me back a little, lowering his head slightly to look me straight in the eye. He doesn't speak at first, only places a hand on my cheek, slowly moving his thumb back and fourth. Then a slight smile crosses his features. "Hey, lets remember that I'm older then you, alright?"

I lower my head, laughing with embarrassment. "So what are you saying?" I question after looking back up at him, smile still lingering.

"What I'm saying, is that, if _I _don't think we're old, then we're _not_."

"But we _are_ old Victor," I counter with a smile, already feeling better.

"Well ok," he pauses, and kisses the top of my head before telling me exactly what I needed to hear. "Then we can be old together."


End file.
